Oishinbo - French Showdown
by Sallyann074
Summary: Yamaoka and Kurita are sent to France to review Japanese restaurants. Yamaoka bemoans the fact that he doesn't have time to enjoy French cuisine while he's there, but if his wish to eat French comes true, will he end up getting more than he bargained for?
1. Chapter 1

Yamaoka glared at the meal that had been placed in front of him. He had been sent to Paris with Kurita, to write an article on the growing Japanese restaurant scene in the city. He had tried everything from outstanding, to mediocre, to downright disgusting takes on the cuisine of his home country.

Yamaoka was very happy that he had been allowed to bring his wife Kurita along. Ohara, their boss at the Tozai News, had made the choice simple. Either Yamaoka fly business class alone, or he could bring his sweetheart along but fly economy. While Yamaoka had briefly contemplated the wide seats, lounges and gourmet wines and desserts served to Air France's higher paying guests, he knew there really was no choice in the matter, and so the pair had snuggled into the back of the plane and dined on mushy omelets with salty bits of ham of questionable origin, and sipped headache inducing white wine from plastic cups.

It wasn't that Yamaoka didn't appreciate the attempt by some of the great chefs in France to create French influenced Japanese cuisine. He was also impressed by the numerous chefs there, who did their best to create an authentic Japanese experience with the ingredients available to them. Yamaoka glared at his chicken katsu curry with rice, pickled vegetables and miso soup because he was anxious about his visit to Paris soon coming to an end.

Yamaoka enjoyed the occasional visit to a French restaurant in Tokyo. The cuisine wasn't the kind he would normally opt to eat every day, but during his brief five day visit to the City of Light, he wanted nothing more than to immerse himself with gusto into the traditional local cuisine. It was his first time outside East Asia. Although he had enjoyed some ham, cheese and croissants at his hotel's breakfast buffet, he was obligated to otherwise eat only Japanese food for the duration of his trip.

Tomii had stuck his tongue out at Yamaoka when he had complained about not being allowed to combine his trip to Paris with a little vacation time. "If you want to vacation in Paris, why not fly there with your own money and pay for your own hotels?" Tomii had cried.

"That's not the point!" Yamaoka had shouted back. "Anyway I have to fly to Paris. Once the business there ends, I'll pay for my own hotel. I just want to spend three extra days there on my own!"

Tomii was Yamaoka's superior at Tozai News. Although Tomii was all around a good guy and a great friend, he could overdo it with his chiding remarks. In the end, Ohara had decided that Yamaoka and Kurita would have to return right after their tour of Parisian Japanese restaurants ended, because it otherwise wouldn't be fair to the other employees at the paper, and besides, Yamaoka needed to get busy finishing his article and getting it through with the editors.

Yamaoka was picking at his plate of curry, dreaming of heaping mountains of escargot, Lobster Thermidor and strawberry savarin, when suddenly a familiar, totally unexpected and totally unwelcome face appeared at the restaurant's front door.


	2. Chapter 2

Yamaoka glared at his father, Kaibara Yuzan. 'Why is the bastard here in Paris?' he thought.

"I see that scum follows me even to the far corners of the Earth," Kaibara Yuzan said in his deep menacing voice. "Yoshino-san, I truly am sorry that your restaurant has become infested with such pests."

Kaibara Yuzan was head of the world renowned Gourmet Club in Tokyo. He often quarreled with his son, whom he openly chastised as a lazy, good for nothing imbecile. In private however, he loved his son and was enormously proud of him.

Yoshino was the owner of the Maison de Cari Yokohama, a brand new Japanese curry restaurant in the 11th arrondissement. It was the latest spot Yamaoka and Kurita were reviewing during their tour of Japanese eateries in Paris. Apparently Kaibara was friends with Yoshino.

Having no clue as to what was going on, Yoshino politely excused himself and went into the kitchen to check on his staff. Kaibara sat down at the table with his son and daughter in law.

"What brings you two to Paris?" Kaibara asked with a grunt.

"That's strange," Yamaoka said turning to Kurita, "it almost sounds as if some person were talking to us, but I don't see or hear any people worth talking to right here."

Kurita had witnessed many bitter fights between the father and son. Even though Kaibara had just referred to her as scum and a pest, she tried to show politeness towards her elder. She didn't want her Paris trip to be completely ruined. "We were sent here by Ohara-san to report on the burgeoning Japanese restaurant scene in Paris," she said softly.

"Ha!" Kaibara cried out so loudly it caused Yoshino to peek out from the kitchen. "It's just like that amateurish buffoon to send a completely incompetent loser like Shiro half way around the World to eat curry rice and tell everyone about it! At least the old fool didn't send you here to write anything about French cuisine. You don't even know the first thing about your own country's cooking."

"Oh yeah!" Shiro Yamaoka cried. "If I were to challenge you to setting up a seven-course French dinner, I would beat the pants off you! You have no idea! All you do is talk! I know more about Japanese, French, German, Italian, Chinese or any country's cuisine for that matter than you could ever dream of." He took a last bite of his curry and got up. "Come on! Let's leave this old fool here to rot! Some of us have real jobs you know, and I've got work to do. Let's go!"

Yamaoka dropped a wad of French franc on the table and dashed out the door, Kaibara's thundering laughter resonating behind him. Kurita came running after him. The couple took the metro to Place de la Concorde and strolled through the Tuileries Garden to get some air and clear their heads after their strenuous ordeal. They were scheduled to dine at yet another trendy sushi spot that evening. After that, they had one final lunch engagement the next day at an izakaya serving yakitori and edamame. It had a reputation amongst Japanese expats as one of the few places in Europe, where you could get Japanese beer on tap. From the izakaya they would take a taxi straight to Charles de Gaulle airport for their late afternoon flight back to Narita.

The sushi had been average at best, and the izakaya had been good. Yamaoka had downed six draft beers with his yakitori. He was trying to get the image of Kaibara out of his head. While sitting at the departure gate with Kurita, he thought he heard 'monsieur Yamaoka' being called in a French message over the intercom. The announcement came again in English, and he clearly heard his name being called, 'Mr. Yamaoka, please report to an Air France service desk, there is an important message for you.'

Yamaoka stumbled over to the check in desk at his gate. The gate agent handed him the receiver of her phone. Ohara was on the other end.

"Yamaoka! Whatever you do, don't get on that plane!" Ohara shouted at him.

"Huh? What's going on? Why shouldn't I get on the plane? Anyway what time is it in Tokyo? Why are you calling me now?" Yamaoka's dreary voice echoed back through the line.

"Never mind the time! It's midnight in case you really want to know. I just watched the evening news. I saw your meeting with Kaibara Yuzan. A reporter from the Paris Teito times bureau happened to be dining at the same restaurant; he filmed your tirade with his camcorder. I just got off the phone with the people at Teito. There's going to be a showdown between the Ultimate Menu and the Supreme Menu in France. The famous French-Japanese chef Luc Nakamura, along with Frederic Gatineu, famous food author, gourmet and former French ambassador to Japan will judge the event. TV crews will be there to film it live. You get to pick one person to help you prepare a seven-course French dinner. Go learn what you can about French cuisine and call me back in three days."

"Wait! What about not being fair to the others? What about my article? You said I needed to fly straight back to show it to the editors."

"Just type up your article tonight and fax it in tomorrow! The editors will know what to do with it," Ohara shouted.

Yamaoka slapped his forehead. Now he was supposed to experience French cooking on his own and call back in three days! That's all he had asked for in the first place, three extra days. At least now he didn't have to worry about money. He was going to go all out and experience French cuisine to its fullest.

 _Note: This story is set in the fall of 1989. Euros and smartphones were not yet in circulation, hence the French franc and camcorder references._


	3. Chapter 3

The gate agent had been angry with Yamaoka. He wasn't used to being scolded by airline employees. In Japan, his request to have his tickets and checked luggage switched to another flight heading to a completely different destination, only 30 minutes before departure, would have resulted in bows and apologies. Here in France, he was yelled at for being inconsiderate, but the job got done, and two hours later Kurita, Yamaoka and their bags were on a flight to Lyon instead of to Tokyo. In hindsight, Yamaoka appreciated the honest expression of feelings by the gate agent. He had probably caused a delay for an entire 747 with several hundred people flying to Japan. Finding his bags somewhere in the belly of the giant aircraft had probably not been as easy as it looked.

Yamaoka had decided to spend the next three days in Lyon. He wanted to discover the heart of classic French cooking. By nine in the evening, he was finally seated in a bistro in the heart of old Lyon, about to enjoy his first real French dinner. He sat for three hours with Kurita. By the end of the evening, the two had finished numerous dishes including Coq au vin and Lyonnaise potatoes. They had downed several bottles of wine, and while enjoying cheese and aperitifs, they noticed they could barley even get up from their chairs to use the washroom.

The time spent in Lyon was magical for Yamaoka and Kurita. One afternoon, they rented a car and drove through the countryside. They took long walks to burn off some of the excess calories they were consuming, but three times a day, they devoured enormous quantities of dishes they had hardly known before. Late at night, the city was magical, very much different from Paris, but just as spectacular. Neither Yamoka, nor Kurita cared at this point, whether they won the contest against Kaibara. They had both experienced a corner of food heaven and were enormously content.

On the fourth night in Lyon, after three full days of pure joy, Yamaoka reluctantly dialed Tokyo and got through to Ohara. The contest was to be held at the Renaissance Hotel Groslot in Orleans that Suturday, beginning at noon. The meal was to last five hours. The early starting time was to provide the maximum number of Japanese TV viewers the opportunity to watch the event live. Japan lay eight hours ahead of France, so the event would start at 8 pm there and last until 1 am. Yamaoka was to spare no expense in finding the best chef to accompany him to the event. He had only one day to find someone and prepare.


	4. Chapter 4

Okaboshi was exhausted. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this tired. First an angry customer had pulled a long strand of woman's hair out of his plate of sashimi and demanded a ridiculously large sum of money as compensation. Okaboshi's first reaction had been to glance over at Fuyumi, who had brought the dish to the customer. Fuyumi was Okaboshi's wife. Although he hadn't accused her directly, Fuyumi knew what Okaboshi's sudden glance had meant; he believed it was her fault. The two had not spoken since. Fuyumi had quietly left and gone to her mother's place.

Later that afternoon, Okaboshi was drinking sake and wondering how to run his place that evening without Fuyumi's help. Regular customers would ask him where she was. Those concerns turned out to be unnecessary when his friend Shiro Yamaoka suddenly called. Shiro was in France and told Okaboshi to catch the next plane to Paris. Okaboshi thought his friend was crazy, but it was the perfect opportunity to get away, so he had closed his shop, called a travel agent, and was able to get on an early evening flight to London only three hours after Shiro had called. Now it was midnight in Paris, already eight o'clock the next morning in Tokyo.

Okaboshi took a cab to the center of town and found a hotel. He called Shiro to let him know where he was, took a shower and then collapsed into his bed, but he couldn't sleep.

The next morning Shiro was knocking loudly on the door. Okaboshi had finally managed to get two hours of sleep, only to be awoken by his friend. Shiro had flown in early from Lyon and was ready to hit the town with his friend to prepare for the big contest the next day. Shiro had a rental car parked illegally outside, and told Okaboshi to hurry.

Okaboshi could barely keep his eyes open. He stumbled about the room and finally managed to get some clothes on. He followed his friend out into the harsh cold sunlight and the next thing he knew, he was looking out at the crowded streets of Paris.

Shiro was hammering him with questions, 'where should they go?', 'what kind of food should they prepare for the contest?' Okaboshi was still having difficulty comprehending where he was. He couldn't respond to anything Shiro was asking him. He suddenly thought of Fuyumi and missed her tremendously.

"Stop the car. Just stop and let me out," Okaboshi suddenly shouted.

"Why? What's the matter?" Shiro asked.

"It's Fuyumi. We had a fight before I left."

"Well why didn't you bring her along. The Tozai News would have paid for the expenses...er...," Shiro Yamaoka's voice trailed off as he saw his friend was close to tears.

Shiro stopped the car in a small parking lot and fed a few coins into a meter. They found a payphone, and with the rest of their coins Okaboshi tried to call Japan. He couldn't remember Fuyumi's mother's phone number. He tried to get the number from an operator but wasn't successful. After numerous attempts calling different numbers plus taking into account the time difference, Okaboshi finally gave up and sank to the floor of the phone booth.

Shiro looked at the floor in disgust, there were cigarette butts and various indescribable objects strewn about. The booth reeked, and he had never seen his friend in such a sorry state before. "Wait a minute!" he suddenly cried. "You're going to be on TV tomorrow night! You can talk to Fuyumi then. You can tell her whatever you like. We have a five hour time slot, and the whole event is being broadcast live across Japan!"

Okaboshi looked confused, but a slight smile formed on his lips. Shiro hadn't even had time to explain to him why he needed to fly to France. He vaguely understood it had something to do with the Ultimate and Supreme Menu Showdown, the ongoing battle between the gastronomy departments of the Tozai News and the Teito Times two of Tokyo's largest rival papers.

"What? I'm going to be on TV? I don't understand. I knew you asked me to come here to help you, but what exactly is going on?" Okaboshi asked his friend. Their phone conversation the previous day had been very abrupt. He had been drunk and simply followed Shiro's instructions to fly to Paris and then call the number he had scribbled down to let Shiro know where he was. He had continued to drink on the nearly 13 hour flight to London, and by the time he had connected to Paris he had no idea what he was doing. At least he had remembered to call Shiro when he got to his hotel.

Shiro explained everything that had occurred since he had dined at Maison du Cari Yokohama several days before, how his encounter with Kaibara Yuzan had been secretly filmed by a Japanese reporter who happened to be eating in the restaurant at the same time. He told Okaboshi about the phone call at the gate the next day, how he had cancelled his flight back to Tokyo and gone to Lyon instead. Finally he admitted that he was a coward. The famous chefs of Lyon were intimidating with their tall hats and aristocratic demeanor. Even though he knew they could also be down-to-earth, he hadn't managed to get up the nerve to ask one of them to help him with the contest. He was allowed to pick only one person, and in his panic, he had called the only person he could think of, the one who had helped him out of so many fixes in the past. "Probably those French chefs in Lyon wouldn't have agreed to help me anyway," he added remorsefully; and with a tinge of hope in his voice he continued, "and I bet even the greatest chef over here doesn't hold a candle to you, even when it comes to French cooking."

"What? Are you crazy!?" Okaboshi shouted. "Because I made a Yuba Gratin once, you think I can cook French food? My friend, we are both in very serious trouble."

"Don't sweat it," Shiro mumbled, suddenly feeling tired and hungry. "Let's go get lunch. Whatever we eat for lunch and dinner today, we'll make tomorrow at the contest. I really don't care whether we win or lose. I was angry when I told Kaibara I could beat him even at French cooking. Maybe I was wrong. In any case I got to eat French food while in France. Really that's all I wanted; they initially sent me here to report only on Japanese restaurants you know? And you! You will get the chance to make up with Fuyumi in a grand way, in a way she will never forget. Are you saying she doesn't even know you're here?"

"Yeah, that's right. She has no idea. I just hope she turns on the TV tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, wait here a second," Shiro said and suddenly darted across the street. They had used up all their coins in the phone booth, but Shiro bought a postcard at a small corner store and came back with a handful of change. He dialed the Tozai News in Tokyo and shouted at the person at the other end.

"Listen to me and listen to me carefully! I am Yamaoka Shiro! For tomorrow's Ultimate vs. Supreme Menu Showdown in Orleans, France, I declare Okaboshi Seiichi to be my chosen expert on French cuisine. You got that? Good! Make sure it's in tomorrow's morning edition! Will you manage that? Ok, thanks! Root for us tomorrow! Bye!"

Finally Okaboshi mangaed to relax. He suddenly felt excited to be in Paris. One minute he had been sitting on a stool in his empty restaurant, gloating over a silly dispute and downing countless shots of sake, the next moment he was coming to his senses, finding himself halfway around the world with his best friend on a wild adventure. Still he thought about Fuyumi. He missed her tremendously and hoped she was doing alright. He loved her.

Shiro and Okaboshi ate an enormous, hearty lunch at the most elegant bistro they could find. They downed two bottles of the most expensive wines on the list. No carafs of house wine for them, Tozai was picking up the tab and this was all being done for research. After lunch they ambled over to the Louvre, where Kurita had been since that morning.

"Hey Okaboshi! Great to see you here!" she shouted warmly and kissed him on the cheek. He looked questioningly at Shiro, who was whistling and didn't seem to mind in the least. "Oh, don't worry!" Kurita giggled. "I've gotten used to the way things are done over here. When in Rome as they say, or in Paris anyway," she quipped and the three of them laughed.

Shiro made reservations for dinner. That evening they went to a three star restaurant near the Jardins du Trocadero on the right bank. The meal was exquisite. It was the fanciest meal Shiro or Kurita had eaten on the trip so far, and after all the great food it still managed to blow them away. Over coffee and dessert Shiro and Okaboshi laid out their plan for the next day's menu. They wouldn't be getting much sleep, they would have to rise before dawn to scour the markets for fitting ingredients and get to the town of Orleans in time for the contest.


	5. Chapter 5

At five o clock in the morning, Shiro, Kurita and Okaboshi checked out of their rooms and headed to the Marché Président Wilson, where they hoped to find all the ingredients they would need for the contest. A few hours later, their rental car filled with all sorts of vegetables and other assorted food items, they made a final stop at a charcuterie Shiro had read about and headed to Orleans.

The three were unlucky. First they hit an enormous traffic jam, next they got lost, and finally when they arrived at the venue, the Hotel Groslot, they were already fifteen minutes late, and the guards outside pretended to have no idea who they were or what was going on. Finally the head guard came round and nonchalantly told them they were in the wrong lot, they had to get back out on the street, so they ended up circling around for another five minutes before finally finding the entrance they were looking for.

The judges were already eating an appetizer prepared by Yuzan and a small unassuming grandmotherly lady with wire rimmed spectacles. A makeup artist from Japanese televison heralded Shiro and Okaboshi into a dressing room, and finally they were allowed to bring their sacks of ingredients into a large open kitchen. As they began trying to prepare their first dish, a loud TV presenter ambled over to them and began to pester them with questions, why they were so late etc.

Okaboshi was working furiously to prepare a radish salad with delicately sliced cheese. He had been ignoring the moderator's questions, but suddenly looked into the camera and said, "Fuyumi, I'm sorry I suspected you of losing a strand of your hair in that man's sashimi plate. You have the most beautiful hair of any woman in the World. Even though I know it wasn't your hair on that plate, even if it had been yours, anyone should be grateful to have a lock of your fine hair. Please forgive me for having been so boorish. I love you. I miss you. I will be back soon!"

The moderator looked away embarrassed. Okaboshi was dog tired and hardly knew what he was saying, other than the fact that he loved Fuyumi and missed her. "Well, hopefully you won't leave any hairs in the food you're preparing here today, I'm sure that's not what the judges are hoping to find on their plates" the moderator said scornfully and walked off to interview Kaibara, who looked placid and relaxed.

Okaboshi gradually managed to make up for lost time. There was little Shiro could do to help. Unlike Japan, where the judges would comment immediately whenever they tried something, the judges here ate in silence, scribbling notes as they did so. One could only guess at their opinions by the amount of food they finished of each dish; otherwise they maintained a strict poker face throughout the servings.

During their preparations, Shiro and Okaboshi were given a wine list from the cellars of the Hotel Groslot. Okaboshi knew very little about wine, so Shiro took his best educated guess which wines would go best with the food they were preparing. Kaibara grinned when asked about his wine selection. He produced a few dusty unlabeled bottles. "From the vineyard of Madame Rouault's nephew," he declared politely.

Towards the middle of the competition it became apparent that Shiro and Okaboshi were getting their asses whooped. Madame Rouault lived in a small house on the edge of a forest just outside Orleans. Everything she prepared came fresh from her garden, nearby farms and the forest next to her house. She raised her own geese and collected mushrooms. Her nephew hunted wild boar and duck.

Shiro and Okaboshi hardly knew were the produce they had bought in Paris came from. The food had spent hours getting into Paris on crowded expressways, and it had taken them hours getting it back out in clouds of exhaust fumes in their small rental car that reeked of cigarette smoke and perfume.

Finally, mercifully the contest came to an end. To show their sincerity the judges pretended to compare notes, but it was all too clear who had won. While Yamaoka and Okaboshi of the Ultimate Menu had a few items on their menu that tasted adequate to be served in a below average restaurant in France, their dishes had for the most part been embarrassingly, poorly prepared with average supermarket quality ingredients. The Supreme Menu on the other hand, delivered first and foremost by Madame Rouault, had brought even these most hardened of critics close to tears for the exquisiteness of the ingredients, their simplicity combined with the artistry in how they were prepared and presented.

Yamoka had chosen the most famous and expensive wines from the list, without having had any idea how they would pare with the food. Yuzan and Rouault, on the other hand, had spent the past three days drinking the simple yet first class wines of her own nephew's small winery, a winery that had been producing wines continuously for at least the last five hundred years. The two had come up with a menu that revolved around the wine, rather than the other way around. The goose liver of geese that lived in the meadows and drank from the stream running at the foot of the slopes of the winery pared perfectly with the hearty red wine.

It was no use for Yamaoka and Okaboshi to explain that if the two of them had only been given more time to prepare, they would have been able to come up with something better. Neither the judges, nor the Japanese TV audience, nor the publishers of the Ultimate and Supreme menus wanted to hear it.

For the first time in Yamaoka's long series of battles against Yuzan, he received not even one harsh word from his father. Yuazan completely ignored him. It made him feel even more embarrassed than past times, when Yuzan had screamed at him after a competition, calling him an imbecile.


	6. Chapter 6

Okaboshi and Fuyumi prepared a marvelous dinner for Shiro and Kurita. After eating they chatted for a while. Finally Shiro yawned and got up to pay. Okaboshi presented him with a bill for 456,900 yen. Shiro's jaw dropped and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Whaaaaat?" he shouted.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Okaboshi said clamly, "tonight's meal is on the house. Those are my expenses for the Paris trip. I'd be glad to give you an itemized receipt. I sent one to the Tozai News as you told me to do. They sent it back telling me they hadn't authorized my trip there to help you, so now they're not going to pay."

Shiro fell to the floor. Over the past three days he had endured nothing but grief at his office. The article on Japanese food, he had originally been sent to Paris for, stunk. His expenses had been way too high, and his efforts at the Ultimate Menu competition had been a joke. He had to pay back his employer 50% of his expenses, more than 500,000 yen. He now owed a total of a million yen, more than three months of his salary.

"Toyama-sensei!" Shiro cried to the ceiling, "please forgive me, I've got to sell your dish." The famous ceramicist Toyama had given Shiro a present, a beautifully painted dish. Shiro had treasured the dish and eaten from it every time he had writer's block or generally felt he needed inspiration.

The next day he scoured the pawn shops and art dealers of Tokyo. In the end he wasn't able to get an offer for more than 300,000. He gave up. He couldn't get rid of his prized dish from Toyama no matter how much was offered anyway.

He went to the Tozai News and arranged for them to take what he owed out of his salary. For Okaboshi's expenses, he went to a loan shark. From then on he worked nights at an izakaya as Tomii had once done. Everyone joked that all he did at work was sleep anyway, so no one noticed a change in his behavior when he came to work exhausted after only three and a half hours sleep.

THE END


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